WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE? Part 1

Mary sat by the window of her living room. She had been washed, dressed and given her breakfast. The nurse had given her an injection. On a table in front of her was today's paper, her current book, the phone in case she needed to make a call and the remote control for the television. Her walking frame was beside her chair together with a walking stick. The home help would return at lunchtime to prepare the lunch and again this evening. She was totally organized, rather exhausted and totally bored. The day stretched out ahead of her, endless hours with nothing to fill them. She gazed out of the window on to her quiet street. There was not much activity there to distract her as it was a residential area and most of its inhabitants had long gone to work. The most that she could expect was that one of the local cats would come to call. She kept a box of cat treats just in case.

Mary was white-haired and brown-eyed, small, dainty and elderly, although she refused to think of herself as such. Since her retirement her days had not been long enough filled as they were with all the things she had not had time for during her busy working life. A stroke had put an end to all of that. She had recovered well and her doctors had promised further improvement in time but for the present she had to be looked after like a baby. She tried to fill the hours as best she could but at the end of it all she was bored, completely and utterley bored. She sighed and picked up the paper. The news was much the same as the preceeding day. Daytime TV was not her bag although she tried to find some programmes that interested her. Friends rang when they had time and a neighbour dropped in as often as she could. Mary shook herself. She really had nothing to complain about, did she? Of course not but......

A sound she did not recognize caught her attention. It was the sound of wheels on the pavement. She looked up to see a boy whizz by on a pair of roller blades. She had never seen him before and wondered where he came from. He was not one of the local children, of that she was sure. She heard him stop and come back. He steadied himself by clutching the top of her fence looked at her and smiled. He had a mop of tangled, red curls and a dirty T shirt of indeterminate hue. His was the face of an urchin straight from Dickens' Oliver Twist, with a smile that could melt an iceberg. Mary smiled back.                                            

"Lo" he said "You look just like my Nan. She had to sit in a window too."

"I've been ill." Mary told him.

"Thought so." he replied.

"By the way, shouldn't you be in school, its a bit too soon for the holidays?"

"Nah, it's nearly half-term; I just added a few days."

"Why?"

"Don't like school, its boring and I don't understand wot they're on about half the time."

"What's your name? Mary enquired.

"Darren. What's yours?"

"Mary."

"After all" he said airily, "I'm going to be a builder like my dad and we don't need all that stuff."

"How old are you Darren?"

"Eleven."

"It's your last year at primary school then. First form next year?"

"Suppose so" he sighed "Got to go now. See ya!"

He let go of the fence and took off.

During the next few days Darren came often into Mary's thoughts. A strange boy, a real charmer. What a shame that he was slipping through the net. Nothing she could do about it as it was no concern of hers. She wondered whether she'd see him again.

Half-term started, the real one, and one morning Darren was back; Gripping the fence he smiled at her.

"Lo" he said.

"Hello Darren, how are you?"

"I'm OK. Thought I'd come by."

"Nice to see you. If you'd like to, tell me about yourself. Have you brothers or sisters?"

"Loads." He was wearing another grubby T shirt, shorts that were too big and that had seen better days. Mary had visions of a large family and lots of hand-me-downs.

"Thought I'd tell gou I got into a lot of bother the other day. My Mum confiscated my rollers and my Dad told me off and told me to get it together." He looked rueful. Mary looked puzzled.

"School." He rubbed a dirty hand across his face. "I really hate it."

Mary knew that she had to proceed very gently and with great caution.

"Why. Don't you like your teacher?" Mary asked.

"She's alright but I get lost with all those figures. They don't mean anything and whatever I do comes out wrong. Anyway, who needs them?"

"Does your teacher know that you find maths so difficult?"

"Yeah, she wants me to stay behind after school with a bunch of other kids. I'd hate that. School's bad enough without having to stay late. I can't anyway. Got things to do like now. See ya!"

He took off in a hurry.

Darren, Darren, she thought, thinking of his cheeky face and his urchin's grin. No wonder your parents are worried. How on earth are you going to cope in the senior school?

Part 2 to follow.